


Somebody Kind

by robotsfighting



Category: Glee
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:16:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotsfighting/pseuds/robotsfighting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt is sick; Blaine is very insistently helpful. (Takes place some time between <i>Asian F</i> and <i>The First Time</i>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somebody Kind

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from "Sixteen Going On Seventeen" from _The Sound Of Music_.

To: Blaine  
 _I won’t be at school today. Sorry. Hopefully tomorrow?_

To: Kurt  
 _I’ll miss you, then. What’s up? You okay?_

To: Blaine  
 _Sick. And don’t you dare show up here with soup, or I will kill you and cough on your corpse._

To: Kurt  
 _Duly noted._

 

Blaine rang the doorbell to the Hudson-Hummel house and stood on the porch for a few minutes, fidgeting, with the rain rattling through the gutters along the edges of the roof. He heard Kurt moving inside, creaking floorboards under padding footsteps, before the door started to open, and Blaine hardly let Kurt’s eyes widen in recognition before he started. “Hi!” he said, smiling. “So, you know how you’re in love with me and would never actually follow through with a threat of extreme violence?”

Kurt stood in the open doorway for a moment, looking blankly at him, before raising one unimpressed eyebrow.

Blaine’s smile faltered. “At least I didn’t bring the soup?”

Kurt rolled his eyes and turned on his heel, letting the door fall open wider as an invitation to follow. Blaine stepped through and shut it softly behind himself, watching as Kurt walked to the small table in the front hallway and shuffled a few things around. In the muffled light from the windows at either side of the door, he looked so informal as to be almost unfamiliar: flannel pajama bottoms, bare feet, overlarge red Buckeyes sweatshirt – _very_ overlarge, actually, to the point where Blaine was sure it must belong to Burt, if the fact that it was football themed wasn’t enough. The combined effect of it made Blaine feel warm and fond, smiling a little dopily. Kurt looked – soft, almost, with his hair touseled and his nose a little red, color in his cheeks. Writing on a whiteboard?

Kurt turned around and held the board up. _Rehearsal?_

Blaine frowned. “My blocking was done pretty early and Artie said I could have the rest of the afternoon while he worked with Rachel.” He gestured at Kurt. “Whiteboard?”

Kurt turned the board back around, wiped it with his rolled sleeve (two things he would never do to his own clothing), and wrote something longer before showing it. _I will not speak, sing, or breathe too loudly until this has passed._

Blaine smirked. He stepped forward, gently took the white board out of Kurt’s hands, set it back on the table, and hugged him tightly. Kurt scrabbled at his arms for a few seconds, fighting the hug, before giving up and going limp, his chin on Blaine’s shoulder and his arms at his sides. “You’ll get sick,” he rasped.

Blaine winced at the sound of his voice, but squeezed reassuringly. “I have white blood cells of steel.”

“The musical.”

Blaine let go and stepped back a little, shrugging. “I have enough time to get sick and get over it before opening night. Although we’re doing the kiss scene next week, so Rachel might be a little unhappy.”

Kurt made a very dramatically displeased face. “I hope you give her mononucleosis.”

Blaine snorted. “I think I liked it better when you were using the whiteboard.”

Kurt hit his arm, then tottered a little, as if the motion had cast him off balance. Blaine reached out quickly to set his hands on both of Kurt’s shoulders, steadying him, and frowned, worried. Kurt sighed, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know why you came,” he said, his voice whistling and lower than usual. “I can’t do anything.”

Blaine’s mouth twitched. “I wasn’t really planning on making you do anything. I just wanted to be here. Where are you set up?”

Kurt gestured through the archway, into the living room. Over Kurt’s shoulder, Blaine could see the television paused on a movie, and a neat little pile of pillows and blankets on the couch. Kurt had brought a small waste basket to sit next to the coffee table, probably for the tissues perched above it. (That was something that Blaine never actually thought of for himself; tissues tended to pile up sort of revoltingly until he was well. It used to drive his mother insane.)

Blaine gently pushed Kurt in the direction of his nest. “Go lie down again,” he said. “Can I make you some tea or something?”

Kurt didn’t move. He stood in the hallway with his bare feet and his sick-watery eyes, eyebrows lowered, looking at Blaine as though he were some kind of puzzle. “You don’t have to do this,” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “I’m fine. You should go and rest. You’ve had rehearsals every night this week, and I don’t want you to get sick on the one day you have off.”

Blaine’s own eyebrows furrowed, and he tilted his head a little. “I--” he started, then stopped, frowning. “Kurt, I want to help.”

Kurt shrugged. He crossed his arms low over his stomach, shoulders tilted and uncomfortable. “I’m fine,” he murmured. “It’s a cold.”

“Yeah, but--” Blaine paused. He blinked at Kurt, something like comprehension starting to dawn around the edges of Kurt’s refusal to let him stay. He shook his head. “You help everybody, all the time.” Kurt opened his mouth to protest, but Blaine cut him off. “You do. You take care of your dad like it’s your job – no, I know you’re happy to do it, that’s what I’m talking about.” He reached out and took Kurt’s hand in his, watching how Kurt stared down at the way he knitted their fingers together. He smiled a little. “Let me take care of you for once,” he murmured, ducking to make Kurt meet his eyes. “I promise you can kick me out if I annoy you.”

Kurt’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed Blaine, looking him up and down, with something unsure and unsettled in his expression. Something guilty, maybe. But he finally gave in, looking too tired to refuse anymore. He sighed, as if being put upon. “Fine.”

Blaine squeezed his hand and straightened up, brightening. “So,” he said. “Tea?”

Kurt nodded. He cleared his throat again, and glanced away. “Thank you.”

Blaine nodded, then leaned forward to press a kiss to Kurt’s cheek. “Go back to the couch, okay?”

Kurt shuffled away, back through the arch, and Blaine went for the kitchen.

Rain battered the window over the sink while Blaine filled the kettle with water. He placed it on the stove with the _click-click-click_ of the gas burner and the little gasp of blue flame when it caught, then set it on high and wandered back to fold his arms against the narrow sill of the sink. He watched the storm-dark yard through the glass until the shriek of the boil pulled him away. Two mugs; two teabags (lemon, which Blaine made a face at, but Kurt wouldn’t drink his if Blaine didn’t have one); boiling water; sugar. He stirred them both and then, with a final glance out of the window, carried them to the living room. 

Kurt had started his movie again. Blaine hovered in the doorway, watching, until he recognized what it was: _The Sound of Music._ Julie Andrews was walking with her suitcases, singing about having confidence in sunshine, and Blaine smiled. He crossed the room and set the two mugs on the coffee table before settling his weight against the arm of the couch with his hip beside Kurt’s head. Kurt, curled up beneath a blanket, looked up at him, blinking, and Blaine reached down to run a hand over his hair. “Sit up,” he murmured.

Kurt did, pulling himself upright with great, annoyed sounds of effort – until Blaine slipped onto the couch behind him. He made a surprised little noise when Blaine reached out and tugged him to lie back down, his head pillowed in Blaine’s lap. He was very, very warm, covered in blankets and the adorable sweater, and Blaine smiled down at him. “Hi. Comfortable?”

Kurt’s mouth twitched. “Hi. Can I have that pillow?” He pointed. Blaine retrieved it, and Kurt bunched it up and put it under his head – Blaine was pretty sure it was in order to see the TV better, but he kept looking up at Blaine with a disbelieving expression. “You’re almost definitely going to get sick.”

“Still don’t care.” Blaine leaned over to pick up Kurt’s mug. “Drink your tea.”

Kurt smirked as Blaine helped him sit up. “I officially give up,” he said, holding his cup carefully in both hands. He took a sip. “I’m too sick to deal with you.”

Blaine grinned. “I smother you with kindness until I break your will. I wish that was how everybody did it.”

Kurt hummed into his mug, amused, sending little ripples across the surface. He took another, longer drink, then set the cup back on the coffee table and settled back down. They watched the movie for a few moments, Blaine settling his hand into Kurt’s already-mussed hair. Captain von Trapp was whistling for the children to introduce themselves, all names and ages. “Did you used to watch this with your dad when you were sick?” Blaine asked, curious.

Kurt nodded. He nestled further against Blaine, pulling his blanket up higher over his shoulders. “This and _The Wizard and Oz_ , over and over again. I’m sure my dad got tired of it.”

Blaine grinned. “I’m imagining your dad singing along to _Edelweiss_ for your amusement.”

“Try _The Lonely Goatherd,_ ” Kurt said. Eyes on the television, he added more quietly, “He tried to stay today. I told him I’m seventeen and I have a cold and he has mouths to feed.”

“Did you really say that?”

Kurt paused, then shrugged one shoulder, slow. “I might not have said that he had mouths to feed.” He glanced up and back at Blaine over his shoulder, studying him for a moment. “You’re going to sing _Sixteen Going On Seventeen_ to me, aren’t you?”

Blaine only smiled innocently. “Want more tea?”

 

They both feel asleep between _Sixteen Going On Seventeen_ and _Do-Re-Mi_. When Blaine woke up in the dark living room, with the DVD title screen tinkling along quietly, Kurt was a warm, limp weight against him, curled into him with his cheek against Blaine’s stomach and his arms around Blaine’s waist, and there was a gentle hand on Blaine’s shoulder. He looked up, surprised, to see Mr. Hummel standing behind the couch, looking a little amused, with the TV light playing over his face. He tapped a button on his watch and held it up for Blaine to see the lighted clockface rounding nine o’clock. Blaine could hear Finn somewhere in the house, with the soft sound of rattling video game gunfire, and Carole – they’d let him and Kurt sleep on the couch all evening. He could feel himself starting to blush, embarrassed, but Burt just shook his head. He came silently around the couch, slipping between it and the coffee table, and carefully lifted Kurt’s upper body, giving Blaine room to slip out.

He did, then he turned around and fixed Kurt’s pillows before Burt settled him back down again. Kurt made a soft noise, but immediately turned and resettled himself into the warm spot that Blaine had left behind. Blaine saw Burt grin a little, before he lifted his eyes to look at Blaine and tilted his head towards the foyer. He turned and started in that direction, and while his back was turned, Blaine quickly knelt down and pressed a soft kiss to the side of Kurt’s head as a goodbye, before he followed.

“Sorry to pull you out of there, kid,” Burt said quietly when Blaine joined him at the front door. “He’s gonna be out the rest of the night, and I know you have school in the morning. Figured now’s as good a time as any.”

“No, it’s fine,” Blaine murmured. “I – um. Thank you, for letting me stay as long as you did. That was nice of you.”

Burt smiled. “No problem. Thanks for taking care of him for a while. I woulda done it, but he kicked me out.” He reached out and squeezed Blaine’s shoulder. “You did a good job.”

Blaine could feel himself coloring, pleased, and he cleared his throat. “Well, good night, sir.”

“Night. Careful driving home, okay?” 

Blaine nodded, and watched as Burt disappeared up the stairs. He took one last look down the hall and through the archway into the living room, where he could just see one of Kurt’s feet stretched out over the end of the couch. He smiled to himself, then sighed and started to turn for the door—

But he stopped, for just a moment, as his eyes landed on something on the hall table.

 

Kurt woke up, slightly overwarm and a little uncomfortable, and sat up a little, half-surprised to find himself on the couch. The time on the cable box under the TV glowed 11:14, and Kurt rubbed his eyes and put his feet on the floor, his head fuzzy and aching. He went to push himself to stand, but stopped, distracted by the white board propped against two cold cups of tea on the coffee table. From the hallway, there was just light enough to read what was written on it.

He smiled.

_Somebody kind who touches your mind will suddenly touch your heart._

_Feel better. <3_

_\--Blaine_


End file.
